


The Phoenix

by Dorksidefiker



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorksidefiker/pseuds/Dorksidefiker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That which falls may yet rise again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cages

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? Another multi-part story written for the Kink Meme?

Kozmotis Pitchiner had lived a strange life, during which he had managed to survive many bizarre events.

The last three days of his life had proven to be the most unnerving and peculiar (not to mention frustrating) of them all.

It started with the cage. It was a small, cramped thing, not designed to hold a grown man -- let alone a man of Kozmotis's considerable stature. Not unless the jailer was of a mind to keep his prisoners uncomfortable, which was entirely possible. Still, the cage didn't feel like it had been designed with anything like a man in mind. The fine mesh between the bars kept him from being able to reach for the lock, not that he had anything to open it with.

Which brought him to the strange robe he was wearing. He knew he owned nothing like the garment he wore now, and he honestly had no idea where it had come from. Irritatingly, it had no pockets. At least his uniform had pockets, which contained many useful things... like the set of lock picks he really wasn't supposed to have.

He had briefly entertained the idea that this was some prank pulled on him -- it certainly wouldn't have been the first time he'd woken up without his uniform in a strange place after a night of drinking -- but he dismissed that as unlikely. His head was clear, and he knew that this was _not_ the result of overindulgence and the kind of friends who thought it would be funny to stick ol' Kozmotis in a dress and leave him next to the fountain in front of the women's barracks.

The last thing he remembered was an envelope bearing the Imperial Seal being delivered to him the second day of his long overdue leave. Seraphina had taken one look at that envelope and left, claiming a previous engagement with one of her friends. Kozmotis knew that in truth, she'd gone out to the garden to sulk where no one could see her.

The next thing Kozmotis had noticed about his imprisonment was that his locket was missing, and he swore then that he would find whoever was responsible for this affront and hang them by their tonsils.

No proper shoes made kicking at the cage door something of a trial, but no one came to see why he was making so much noise. Wherever he was, it was deathly quiet.

That ruled out capture by Dream Pirates, then. If there was one thing that could be said for them, it was that they were _loud_. Another thing that could be said about them was that they weren't inclined to leave prisoners alone, not when there was so much _fun_ that could be had with them.

That was how the first day went. Kozmotis kicked and clawed at the cage until his feet and fingers bled.

The second day started much the same. Exhaustion, hunger, and thirst warred with his desire to break free. There was still no sign of his jailer, or of anyone else... not until the little bird creature zipped past.

For a moment, Kozmotis thought he had imagined it, even as he pressed his face against the wire mesh, fingers sticking through. Then the little creature came back, tiny wings beating too fast to see. She was a tiny point of brilliant color in the darkness, little feathers shimmering with greens and golds and purples as she hovered at eye level.

If there was one thing the Darkness that Kozmotis had spent his life fighting against could be counted on, it was that it stuck to the color palate the name implied. Hopefully, that meant the little beauty was a friend.

"Please," he croaked, surprised at the sound of his own voice. "Help me, unlock the cage."

The bird-girl chirped, zipping around the cage fast enough to make Kozmotis dizzy. Then she darted away into the dark, leaving him hoping that she had been able to understand what he said.

She came rushing back again, chirping excitedly at the two men who followed her.

'Men', that was, in the sense that they were humanoid in shape and apparently male. One was little more than a child -- old enough to enlist in the Army, but likely not by much -- lean and pale with hair like fresh snow and bare feet. The other was small and round and golden as the desert sands, and he floated along like a little balloon. "Cool it, Baby Tooth, we're coming!" said the youth. Both men stopped when they saw Kozmotis, and the boy burst into laughter that echoed through the dark.

"Oh man, karma is a _serious_ bitch!"

The little man floated closer, sand forming shapes and dissolving quickly above his head.

"I am General Kozmotis Pitchner of the Golden Army, assigned to the 4077th regiment-"

This got a blank look from the youth, but comprehension flashed across the other man's face. As close as he was, Kozmotis could finally make out the little details enough to tell that the man was, in fact, a _star_. He hadn't seen many of them, but there always one or two in the Tsar's court. They didn't often take humanoid form, and then only under the direst of circumstances.

"-I do not know how I came to be here, but I am being held prisoner, and I must return-"

He'd been home. He'd been at _home_ when he was taken. He'd fought down that fact for the last two days, focusing instead on trying to get out, but he had been at home, and he had no idea where Seraphina was.

Logic dictated that she was safe; his daughter was clever, capable, and knew every hidey-hole, exit, and defense the villa had to offer -- probably better than Kozmotis himself, since she'd been the one to oversee the installations.

But that voice of logic was a small one against the howling storm of terror and rage. _He had to find out what had happened to Seraphina_ , and all the gods help anyone who hurt her.

The star blew glowing sand into Kozmotis's face, and then all there was was darkness, and a dream of his wife. Kozmotis knew it was a dream; his Astrid had been dead for years, killed in a surprise attack by the Nightmare Men while he had been stuck in the back of beyond chasing Dream Pirates. But in the dream, none of that mattered.

He woke in a new cage. This one was far more comfortable, with a bed and a sink and a toilet discretely tucked away... but it was still a cage, and he was still a prisoner. He had two burly, fur covered guards who watched him with angry eyes and hands on their weapons (cudgels, Kozmotis noticed), and they spoke a language he didn't understand, refusing to answer his questions. After a few fruitless hours, he retreated to the bed to think. Another of the furry creatures brought a tray laden with cold tea and a sandwich, which he devoured without really tasting it.

A plan was starting to solidify in Kozmotis's mind when the Pooka appeared.


	2. Uncertain Truths

The Pooka was neither as tall nor as broad as most of those Kozmotis had served with, but he carried himself like a warrior. Not with the arrogant swagger of a young man, but with the calm assurance of someone who had grown used to their skin, and knew not only how to cause damage, but how _not_ to. And he did not look at all friendly as he eyed Kozmotis, nose twitching.

"I don't know what game you're playing at, Pitch-" The Pooka spat the name out like a curse, the fur along his shoulders bristling. "-but you're fooling no one."

Kozmotis stood up, wishing once more for his uniform. He felt ridiculous in the robe. Still, he wasn't going to slouch on the bed; it was beneath his dignity. "I am General Kozmotis Pitchiner of the-"

"Kozmotis Pitchiner is _dead_ ," the Pooka snapped. "The Golden Army fell millennia ago, slaughtered by _you_ and your Fearlings."

The words struck Kozmotis like a blow, but he refused to let any of that show on his face or in his bearing. It simply _could not_ be true. "I have to say, I'm feeling remarkably well for a dead man," he said dryly. The Pooka twitched, reaching behind himself to draw a boomerang from his bandoleer. One of the guards grunted something unintelligible, and the Pooka's ears flattened against his head.

"I don't much _care_ what North said! We're better off ending this _now_ , before he's got the chance-"

Perhaps things would have gone better for him if he'd been paying less attention to Kozmotis, and more to the guards. The one that had remained silent unceremoniously picked the Pooka up and tossed him out as if he weighed nothing at all, despite his loud protests.

Kozmotis watched this all in silence, taking note of everything.

When the time came, it would be wiser to use speed and stealth rather than stand and fight. But still, he needed more information. To attempt his plan now was to invite defeat, so he would have to use every bit of guile and trickery he had at his disposal to learn what he needed to know.

"I demand to speak to North."

They guards glared at him from beneath heavy brows. One tapped his cudgel against his palm as if seriously considering using it on Kozmotis's skull. Thankfully, _some_ form of civilized behavior seemed to be expected from jailers here, allowing his skull to remain undented for the time being.

"I have the right to know why I am being held prisoner!"

At least, he did in a _civilized_ society.

 _The Golden Army fell..._ The Pooka's words echoed horribly in his head. Surely that couldn't be true... but it felt like it was. Some horrible thing clawing at the back of his mind filled in the more obvious gaps. But how could _he_ have been involved?

_The orders. I was given orders._

Another meal came and went as Kozmotis sat and thought and worked on his escape plan. He demanded again to see this 'North', relatively certain that _that_ was the person in charge. The guards talked amongst themselves, and Kozmotis made only a half-hearted attempt to listen as he put part of his plan in motion.

The bed he sat on was heavy and sturdy, and bolted to the floor. But all things required smaller bits to put them together, and the guards were so distracted with talking amongst themselves -- no doubt debating if they should let Kozmotis see North -- that they didn't notice him slowly and carefully picking a screw free. The mattress was thick and filled with feathers that would make for wonderful cover, then the time came.

Once he was out, then he would find out the truth.


	3. Blow Up the Outside World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for how long it took to get this chapter up. I blame a combination of real life, rogue plot bunnies, and me trying to come up with a way to get the plot going in the direction I actually want it to go.

Kozmotis gently poked at the angry red welts on the bottoms of his feet, checking for any signs of infection. They were healing nicely; better than he would have expected, considering that he was tending them himself. While his demands to see North went unanswered, his request for bandages and salve had been promptly fulfilled. His guards refused to come near him, and there had been no repeat appearances by the Pooka, so Kozmotis had been on his own treating his wounds. Feet were _tremendously_ difficult to deal with without help, but at least it gave him something to _do_ while he thought.

He was confidant that he could break out of the cell, if he could just keep his guards off him long enough. His careful dismantling of the bed had yielded enough bits and bobs that he was fairly certain he could pick the lock. An unexpected treasure had come with one of his meals; a bobby pin accidentally dropped from the fur of the creature who brought his dinner that had gone completely unnoticed by the guards. He would pick the lock and be out-

It was what came after that would be a problem, but Kozmotis was nothing if not adaptable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the general chaos of North's workshop, no one noticed the rats. If someone had, they might have recalled that vermin rarely survived there for very long; the elves hunted them for sport. They might also have noticed that the rats were sleek, black furred things, a far cry from the heavier, brown creatures that sometimes made it into the workshop.

But it was doubtful anyone would have realized that the rats were moving with purpose, not until it was too late. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jack Frost stared out the windows, watching the storm raging outside. Snow hissed against the glass, blocking out the normal, magnificent view of the mountains. The storm had descended the day after they'd brought Pitch back from his lair; Sandy had already left to deliver his dreams, and he hadn't been able to get back to the workshop without making use of Bunnymund's tunnels. Tooth and her fairies were just as incapable of navigating the storm.

The snow refused to answer to Jack, and the wind just howled in responce to his commands. North and Bunny agreed that the weather was wholly unnatural, and that it was somehow tied to Pitch Black.

North joined Jack at the window, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he watched the storm. "The yetis say he is still asking to see me."

"Are you ever gonna?" Jack wondered, leaning against his staff as he turned a cheeky grin on North. "Or are you just gonna leave him down there?"

North grunted. "Soon. Once I know more about this... transformation." He glared up at the snow filled sky. "Would be nice of Manny could shed some light, but no, someone must be great big Drama Queen..." He made a disgusted noise. "Eh. We make do."

Baby Tooth zipped around Jack's head before diving into the pouch of his hoodie, chased by elves waving some of the most eye meltingly awful dresses Jack had ever seen. She chirped disapprovingly at them, and Jack helpfully froze the elves without really thinking about it.

"Don't worry, I'll save you from the fashion disasters," Jack whispered soothingly. Baby Tooth crawled back out of the pouch, still twittering angrily at the elves for daring to think she was anything less than perfect as she already was.

"What do _you_ think of this 'Kozmotis Pitchiner'?" North asked. "You have been remarkably silent on the matter."

Jack used the butt of his staff to push the frozen elves around until they formed a neat circle. "I think Bunny's right. He's dangerous, and he's tricked us before. But..."

"But?"

"It's hard - really hard - to fake that kind of confusion. And his skin's gone all weird, and-" He ran a hand over his face. "Can't trust him, but what if it's true?"

"Sandy thinks there's something to it. Still, Pitch stays-"

Something exploded.

That wasn't actually at all unusual; between the elves, the yetis, and even the occasional mini fairy bent on wreaking a little havoc, things exploded in the workshop all the time.

This explosion was different. Big enough to startle even North, who treated explosions like so much background noise, even when they happened right next to him. North let out a startled exclamation in Russian, following the stream of yetis rushing towards the source. Baby Tooth disappeared into the chaos, but Jack wasn't worried; she was more than capable of taking care of herself, and besides, what could happen to her in the workshop?

Jack himself opted to follow North, and he caught a glimps of the devastation just before the second explosion went off.


	4. The Great Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I made a Playlist.](http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Rise+Again+A+Playlist+For+The+Phoenix/84404550) Enjoy.

_Now or never._

Kozmotis Pitchiner was not a man to waste an opportunity. There was chaos and confusion afoot, his guards were rushing off to deal with it. He doubted he would get so good a chance again.

The lock opened with hardly any effort, and Kozmotis slipped out of his cell. He crossed the room and opened the door a crack, and looked out at pure chaos. More people like his guards rushed hither and yon while tiny creatures in red scampered underfoot, tiny bells ringing at the ends of their hats. Something went flying past, one of the little creatures clinging to it and letting out an ear piercing shriek.

Not a crowd he would be able to blend in with, especially not in the ridiculous black robe he still wore.

Still, one made the best of the situation one landed in. He slid out the door, picked a direction, and _moved_. There was a shout, but Kozmotis didn't stop -- he barely slowed as the great furry men barreled after him. There was a certain universality to the way bipeds were put together -- underneath all that hair and what were undoubtedly thick slabs of muscle would be vulnerable organs, joins, pressure points...

Kozmotis was slender by comparison, but he was fast and far stronger than he looked. As long as he could keep any of them from actually laying hands on him, he was confidant in his ability to win.

Ignoring the ache in his feet, he ducked and dodged and practically danced circles around the guards, even taking advantage of the little bell wearing creatures by picking a few up and flinging them in the face of his pursuers. An open door called to Kozmotis, so he hooked a foot behind the knee of one of the creatures, rolling him into the others before bolting, slamming the door behind him.

The lock he found on the other side was far better than the one on his cell. A clockwork mechanism spun and clicked, locking the door and leaving the guards pounding fruitlessly on the heavy door. Kozmotis allowed himself a moment to admire the lock both for it's functionality and it's elegance. Whoever had crafted it was a true artisan, as good as any he had ever seen.

Fortune continued to favor Kozmotis -- the room was some kind of storage closet, filled with racks of clothes.

 _Someone_ was fond of the color red. Scarlet coats trimmed with fur, crimson shirts stiff with beautiful embroidery, heavy trousers in dark colors brightened by still more embroidery (also red), and all of it meant for a man who clearly would have dwarfed Kozmotis. An ancient chest yielded huge, battered boots made wearable by layers of thick knit socks. The door was starting to crack as he bundled himself up, glancing out the window.

There, his luck had run out. A snowstorm raged outside, turning everything a deadly white.

The door wouldn't hold for much longer. It was either go out the window and brave the storm, or risk the wrath of his guards.

The enraged grunts coming from outside and the way the door was cracking down the middle decided him. He pried open the window and tumbled out into the storm as the door finally broke apart.

No one noticed a small, brilliantly green fairy follow him out the window, not in all the chaos.


	5. Shelter From the Storm

As he trudged through the snow, Kozmotis reminded himself that he had been through far worse than this, and he had survived. At least there was clean water to be found this time, which was more than could be said for that Light forsaken desert he'd ended up stranded in when he was still a lieutenant. He was, however, hopelessly lost in the snow, far from civilization, and with no way to contact _anyone_.

The idea that the Empire had fallen, Kozmotis decided, was too ridiculous to give any credence to. If the Pooka hadn't been outright lying to him, then he was clearly mistaken. The Light only knew what might have happened, but who knew how badly garbled any information reaching this obvious backwater might have been.

"One foot in front of the other," the general reminded himself, breath coming out in little white plumes that were swiftly torn away by the wind. He pulled fur hat he wore lower, wrapping the scarves he'd liberated as tightly as he could in an effort to keep out the cold. He could barely see through the swirling snow, and the walk was slow going indeed; he was wading through snow drifts up to his chest in places, all the while trying to remember everything he'd learned about surviving in the snow.

"I suppose we can cross _don't go out in a damn blizzard_ off the list," Kozmotis groaned. " _Not_ one of my better plans."

Days without proper exercise had clearly taken their toll on him; he _shouldn't_ have grown so tired so quickly. Still, the exhaustion was something to focus on, to keep his mind from wandering down paths he did not care to dwell on. "If you can't find shelter," he muttered to himself, attempting to imitate the high lilt of one of his teachers even as he half stumbled into a snow drift that easily taller than Kozmotis himself, "make one from the snow. Alright, I can do that..."

Just dig and pack snow. He'd done it before, though in far less urgent circumstances. Seraphina loved to play out of doors no matter what the weather, and Kozmotis had always delighted in indulging her when he could. Numb fingers had been a small price to pay for his daughter's smile as she'd crawled into her snow fort. There had been hot drinks and dry clothes waiting for them inside afterward, and Seraphina had fallen asleep at his side in front of the fireplace.

Instinctively, Kozmotis reached for the locket that wasn't there, and he cursed as his hand closed around empty air. When he found who had taken his locket, there would be hell to pay.

Kozmotis poured the power of his rage into his digging, finally producing a cave in the snow just big enough for him to stretch out in. He crawled inside as the snow continued to hiss down, his thoughts on his daughter.

She would be worried.

She always worried.

As he settled into his cave, Kozmotis became aware of _something_ moving amongst the many layers he wore. Wriggling and swatting frantically, he swore and tried very hard _not_ to imagine what kind of vermin he might have brought with him. His unexpected passenger let out a shrill noise, crawling out of his sleeve to glare at Kozmotis with mismatched eyes, shaking herself in an effort to dislodge the melting snow that clung to her brilliant plumage. Almost in spite of himself, Kozmotis smiled while the little bird woman fussed with her feathers and scolded him with the kind of wrath that would have done the fiercest of drill sergeants proud.

"We meet again... I'm _terribly_ sorry, madam. I fear I was no expecting company."

The bird woman scanned Kozmotis's face, then sniffed expressively before fluttering to the edge of the little snow cave. A stray gust of wind sent her tumbling back, and Kozmotis caught her before she could crash into the packed snow wall. "I think we're both going to be here a while. At least until the snow clears up. Then you can be back off to your friends, and I..." He pursed his lips and shrugged, keeping his hands open to allow his unexpected guest what little freedom the shelter had to offer. "I would be more than pleased to extend my hospitality to you, my lady."

The look the bird woman gave him made it clear she thought he was laying it on thick; Kozmotis just smiled, placing her on his knee so he could scoop up some of the snow. "Need to let this melt first," he explained. "Eating snow lowers body temperature-"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jack scanned the vast, snowy expanse that spread out beneath him, the wind howling in his ears as it held him aloft. The storm had already erased all signs of Pitch's passing, but he didn't dare stop searching. Someone had deliberately set off those explosions, probably to give Pitch the chance to make his escape. There was no way in hell was was letting Pitch _actually_ get away, not after everything else. Jack went higher, looking for _any_ sign of where the Boogeyman had gone.

There had been no sign of Pitch's Nightmares, but they could have easily hidden themselves in the dark storm clouds. Sandman and Tooth were watching the perimeter of the storm, ready to block Pitch's escape from there, but they'd spotted nothing out of the ordinary beside the storm itself.

Something fluttering in the near the ground caught Jack's eye, a splash of crimson against unending white. The wind brought the brilliant red scarf up to him, revealing a few vibrant green feathers caught in the weave.

"Baby Tooth," he breathed.

A change in the howl of the wind was the only warning he got. A figure appeared from the swirling snow that was normally his ally, and strong brown hands emerged to rip his staff from his grip. It felt like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs even before the actual blows started; a sharp jab to his stomach with the butt of his staff, followed by a blow to the jaw that knocked him right out of the sky and into the snow below, leaving him seeing stars.

He sank groaning into the deep snow, struggling to call upon the wind and ice even as his grey cloaked attacker landed beside him, bringing Jack's own staff down on his nose hard enough to send him falling into blackness.


	6. Mean Green Mother

"What makes you think I care one wit about your opinion?"

Moonlight glittered on snow, weaving incomprehensibly complex patterns of light, shadow, and ice.

"You've all but ignored the boy the last three centuries. You hardly have any right to go complaining about how _I_ treat him at this point."

Jack Frost had long ago mastered the art of playing dead; there were plenty of less than friendly spirits out there who thought nothing of trying to beat one tiny winter spirit into a gooey smear. Sometimes, the easiest way to deal with them was to be 'dead' until they dropped their guard, then shove snow down their throat till they choked. Jack's throbbing nose made that idea _especially_ appealing. His attacker had her (and Jack was sure now that it was a 'her'; the musical voice could never have been mistaken for masculine) back to him, and held Jack's staff loosely in one hand.

The storm had finally abated, letting the moon shine down, impossibly bright in the night sky.

"I think I'm being perfectly reasonable. You and your guardians made this mess. You can be the ones to clean it up -- you didn't think I was just going to _leave_ him there, did you?"

No noise betrayed Jack as he inched towards his staff, long pale fingers reaching out to brush the wood.

"The oaths he swore are to an empire that no longer exists! He's finally _free_ , and I plan to make sure he stays that way-" She whirled, yanking the staff out of Jack's reach and planting a bare foot on his chest. She leaned down, putting a surprising amount of weight on Jack, resting her folded arms on her thigh. Her skin was lightly brown, and the hair that escaped from her cloak was black, and Jack thought he could be forgiving for thinking of Pitch when he looked into the mocking smile on her face. "I'd prefer not to hit you again," she purred, "but if you insist upon being a pest..."

Moonlight danced and flickered, and the woman rolled her eyes. "Would you prefer I left him for the fearlings to find? No? Then _shut up_." Her attention went back to Jack. "He really is a great pest. I can barely get a word in edgewise."

Jack smiled and nodded, digging his fingers into the thick, wet snow. Without his staff, he was all but powerless, but that didn't mean he was gonna give up without a fight. He threw the double handful of snow into the woman's face, then grabbed her ankle and _pulled_ , yanking her off balance. She cried out in surprise, and Jack scrambled for his staff, yanking it out of her hand. He brought the crook around, but she was already gone, leaving behind nothing but an imprint in the snow.

"If _that's_ how it's going to be..."

Jack looked up to see storm clouds rolling in, blocking out the moon. The wind, that traitor, swirled around the woman, making her cloak billow out around her. Lightning flashed in the sky, and her smile was a predator's confronted with soft, easy prey. "Foolish child. I'll teach you to meddle in the affairs of your betters!"

Jack couldn't resist a smirk, shooting a barrage of ice with a wave of his staff. "Lady, I'm _Jack Frost_! Nobody's better than me!"

She waved a hand, melting the ice before it could reach her. The ground beneath Jack's feet rumbled, nearly knocking him back on his ass. "You think a little ice can stop me, boy? I am _Mother Nature!_ All things are _mine_!"

Impossibly thick vines ripped free of the frozen earth, wrapping around Jack and squeezing. They shattered beneath Jack's freezing touch, and he had only a moment to catch his breath before hail stones rained down, each as big as his fist. Jack ducked and dodged and danced away from the assault, tossing back volleys of ice and snow as he tried to come up with an attack that would actually _work_. The wind refused to come to him, caught up in a swirling vortex around Mother Nature, and she laughed at his every assault.

In the distance, something _screamed_ , a raw and primal sound that ripped the smile from Mother Nature's face. " _Damnation_." She glared darkly at Jack and hissed. "I'll settle with _you_ later!" The wind carried her away, easily as fast as Tooth. Soon, she was nothing more than a grey speck against the black clouds.

The wind returned to Jack, ruffling his hair and tugging at his clothes almost apologetically. "After her," Jack commanded; the wind lifted him easily out of the snow, carrying him the same way Mother Nature went. Something in the dark corners of his mind whispered that she very likely had the answers to a lot of questions Jack wanted to ask... and there had been something _very_ familiar about that distant scream. Almost like the one he'd heard when the Nightmares had dragged Pitch back into his lair.


	7. Dancing with the Devil

Talking made for a wonderful distraction from the cold and from Kozmotis's own treacherous thoughts. It helped that the little bird woman was an attentive listener. She would chirrup if he wandered far off topic, or if he stopped talking for very long. She didn't need words to make herself understood; a gesture, a look crossing her expressive little face, even the simple set of her body told so much.

"Seraphina's governess went into a dead faint at that point -- rather silly of her, to be entirely honest, and I wasn't long about replacing her with a more hardy soul -- while Seraphina climbed right up to the crow's next to get her dolly back. I have never seen an ensign more surprised."

The howling of the wind had stopped outside the little snow cave. Hopefully, the snow would soon follow suit, and he could be on his way.

"Ended up having to climb up there myself to save the man. He really should have known better, and he's lucky he didn't end up getting thrown _out_ of the crow's nest. Not that it helped him with the rest of the crew, mind you. My Seraphina's been something of a mascot and good luck charm for... oh, as long as I can remember, really." Kozmotis dug through the fresher accumulation of snow to look outside. The clouds were thinning, allowing moonlight to turn the world into a vast, glittering landscape. "Better. Not ideal, but better." He slid back inside, giving his companion a searching look.

"You can probably make it back to your friends at this point. I don't suppose you'd consider not telling them where I've gone to?"

She cocked her head to one side, lips pursed as she hovered at Kozmotis's eye level. The noise she made was a noncommittal one; they were not enemies, especially so long as they shared space, but her first allegiance was to her friends, and she would not betray that.

"Perhaps you could convince them that I'm no enemy?" he suggested hopefully. The look he got was a bit more sympathetic. _I'll do my best, but I make no promises._

It would have to do. And he could be well away from the little snow cave before she could lead the others to him.

A distant howling made the hairs on the back of Kozmotis's neck rise, freeing him from all concerns about his little companion and those who had kept him imprisoned. _That_ was not the howl of the wind, nor of any natural beast hunting in the snow. No, that was a howl that had long haunted Kozmotis's nightmares, summoning up memories of desperate battles, his feet slipping out from beneath him as he skidded on the blood of his own men, desperately trying to stay alive just a few moments longer-

Fearlings.

Kozmotis began packing the snow back over the tiny entrance, heart beating loudly in his ears. The little bird woman chirped in alarm, and he shushed her quickly. "No sound, be still. Think only of good things-"

Have no fear. That was the important thing. The creatures would feel it, follow it as surely as a shark following blood. They would be relentless in their hunt and merciless in their execution of the pair of them. With luck, their deaths would be _quick_ , but Kozmotis wasn't so young and foolish as to count on something like luck when dealing with Fearlings.

"If they find us," he whispered to the bird woman, trying to focus his thoughts on Seraphina, safe and happy in her garden, "you _run_. I'll keep them busy."

 _Seraphina is **safe** ,_ he reminded himself, listening for the haunting howls of the Fearlings. But another voice growled angrily in his mind, _The Golden Army fell millennia ago, slaughtered by **you** and your Fearlings._

Impossible. It wasn't true. Just a lie to be dismissed.

The Fearlings were getting closer. He could hear the snow crunching beneath their weight, the way they slowed as they approached... and he knew _they_ knew he could hear them. The Fearlings would draw it out as long as possible, doing everything they could to heighten the terror.

"Damn."

He had no weapons but his own two hands. It would have to do. _I am a General of the Golden Army, and I will not be taken by **fear** ,_ Kozmotis reminded himself. He spared one last glance at his companion, smiled gently, then burst through the snow.

The Fearlings had known he was there, but they had clearly not expected Kozmotis to attack first. Surprise gave him his _only_ advantage in the fight, and he used it as ruthlessly as he might a sword, falling upon the closest Fearling with a ferocity that would have down his combat instructors proud. Sharp claws dug through layers of clothing to try and get at the soft flesh beneath. Snarling, Kozmotis grabbed at the terrible claws and yanked the spindly fingers they were attached to back sharply. The Fearling cried out in terror and pain as bones shattered and flesh began to tear.

Fearlings were dangerous, but so was Kozmotis. He had not survived the Constellation Wars by sitting safely behind a desk, far from the enemies who dared to terrorize his people. A dark thrill of satisfaction ran through him as the fragile flesh gave way, granting Kozmotis weapons in the form of those dark and terrible claws. There was nothing gentle about his smile as he dug those claws into the eyes of their original owner, then turned upon the rest of the pack.

As distractions went, this was so much better than trekking through snow. This was something he could _fight_ , tooth and nail if he had to. His blood was pumping, and for the first time since he'd woken up in that cage, the world felt _right_. "Come on then," he purred. "Is that really the best you can do? I haven't even worked up a sweat!"

It was incredibly foolish to taunt the Fearlings -- he was one, and they were still nearly a dozen -- but it felt so _good_. He laughed as they rushed him, their claws digging at him even as he fought back. Foul blood spilled on the snow, mingling with his own. He paid it no mind; his own injuries could be dealt with later, when the Fearlings were nothing more than one more bad memory.

Color flashed across his line of sight. The little bird woman had not left him, instead dive bombing the Fearlings, that sharp little beak piercing dark flesh and providing the distraction that was probably keeping Kozmotis alive. Brave, but foolish for such a small thing like her to do. Fearlings could be so much faster than they looked--

Kozmotis saw the Fearling move, pouncing at the bird woman as she pulled her beak free from the vulnerable flesh of another Fealing's neck, it's mouth wide to reveal row after row of horrible teeth, talons extended. He moved without thinking, letting those awful claws dig into him instead, even as he tore open the Fearling's belly, spilling stinking, steaming offal onto already trampled . The beast his companion had been tormenting joined it's dying fellow, bearing Kozmotis down into the filth, biting through the layers of fabric to get a taste of warm blood and untainted flesh.

Kozmotis didn't doubt for an instant that the thing screaming like a wounded animal was him. He thrashed and fought, but it was something else that dislodged the Fearling with an blast that stank of ozone, allowing Kozmotis to roll onto his back.

Dark clouds once more blocked out the night sky, and lightning lanced down around a figure dressed in grey, the wind rising once more in a howl that rivaled the Fearlings in awfulness.

And that was all he knew as the blackness claimed him.


	8. Can't Go Home Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, at long last, long after everyone had given up hope... and UPDATE! Huzzah! *goes to beat Real Life with a stick*

There comes a point in every man's life where he gets tired of waking up in an unfamiliar place every few days.

Kozmotis Pitchiner had finally reached that point.

"At least it's not a damn cell this time." He groaned as he tried to sit up, hands flying to the bandages that covered his wounds. Whoever had him now had taken the time to tend to the injuries inflicted by the Fearlings, which he took as a good sign. His stolen clothes were gone, but a quick glance around revealed new clothes -- _real_ clothes, nothing like that misbegotten robe he'd woken up in at the start of his ordeal -- laid out at the foot of the cot he'd been left on. The trousers were billowy and soft to the touch, large enough that they slid easily over the bandages on his right leg; something had _gnawed_ on it, and he hadn't even noticed. The tunic was equally roomy, easily pulled on without causing much discomfort. The tunic, he noted, was his favorite shade of gold, the color of ripened wheat.

A warm breeze blew through the glassless window, bringing with it the scent of unfamiliar flowers. Sunlight streamed into the room, making the white plaster walls glow; Kozmotis guessed that it was early afternoon. He could have easily climbed out the window and escaped into the verdant jungle that filled his view when he looked out... but the room had no door, only an open archway that lead out to a courtyard. Why take the hard way out?

If he was once again a prisoner, then his cage was a large one indeed.

And there was the matter of his dainty feathered companion. There was no sign of her in the room; she'd still been alive when he'd last been conscious, and he _needed_ to know what had happened to her. Was she safe? Or had she been reduced to just another bright stain on the snow?

Kozmotis staggered out into the courtyard, looking up at the brilliant blue sky above. There were no clouds marring the perfect expanse, only the bright warmth of the sun.

Grass pushed up between the flagstones beneath his feet, and vines climbed the walls, brilliant blossoms of green, red, and purple adding splashes of color to walls that had grown dirty with age. A curtain of them hung down from the second level, and Kozmotis brushed a few blooms tentatively with his fingers.

A fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, dry and wrapped in ivy. Dead leaves rustled in the basin when Kozmotis ran his hand through them. The statue atop the fountain was achingly familiar, even obscured by vegetation and what had to be centuries of exposure to the elements.

_Everything_ about this place was familiar, but that was impossible. Nothing more than a coincidence, he told himself firmly. There had been nothing unique about how the villa had been constructed.

Kozmotis stayed there for a time, torn between venturing further into the building, or following the faint sounds of someone talking. He opted to follow the signs of life, one hand trailing lightly across the walls as he limped through another archway and out into what had once been a magnificent garden. It was clear even to Kozmotis's untrained eye that no one had bothered to tend it properly in a very long time, allowing weeds to come up amongst the flowers, and for the plants to outgrow their beds, tangling together and merging with the encroaching jungle. The towering trees offered the only respite from the sun, and it was to them that Kozmotis was drawn - in no small part because of the boy hanging upside down from one of the branches. The blue hood of his garment flopped against his snowy white hair as he swung back and forth.

The boy from the prison.

Someone had blackened his eyes, and Kozmotis couldn't miss the wary tension lurking the oh-so-causal smile that spread across the boy's face. "Sleeping beauty awakes!"

"Being knocked unconscious is growing rather tiresome," Kozmotis noted as lightly as he could manage. "I'm hoping you have no plans to continue the trend."

A familiar trill emerge from within the boy's hood, and the little bird woman darted from within to circle Kozmotis's head, chirping excitedly. Something loosened in his chest, and he held out a hand to give her a perch. "I'm happy to see you too, darling."

"Baby Tooth, you traitor!"

"Baby Tooth?" Kozmotis murmured. _Yes, that's what the boy called her in that prison..._ The bird woman chirruped and nodded, fluffing her plumage as if daring Kozmotis to say something about it. "It's nice to have a name to put to you, in any case."

The boy dropped from the branch, light and graceful as a leaf on the wind when he moved. "She _likes_ you," he said with deep suspicion.

There was something distinctly snippy about the way Baby Tooth addressed the youth, who threw his hands up to ward off the torrent of abuse. "Alright, alright! You're buying Pitch's story, I got it!"

"I would dearly love to know why you people insist on calling me _Pitch_. I'm completely certain I've said my name is Kozmotis Pitchiner -- though I have yet to catch _yours_."

The boy danced backwards when Kozmotis advanced with a confused look flashing across his face, putting his staff between then in a way that utterly failed to look casual. Baby Tooth made a rude noise, flitting over to the lad and perching on his shoulder.

"You really don't know, do you..."

Kozmotis was perilously close to taking that staff and beating the youth about the head and shoulders with it. He pulled his lips back in a snarl that made Baby Tooth squeak in alarm and the boy jerk back further. " _Obviously_." He regretted it immediately, but it had felt so _good_ to let some of the mounting anger out. He drew himself up and took a measured step back, trampling down his annoyance. "I'm sorry, that was out of line." He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It's been a very peculiar couple of days."

Baby Tooth gave the boy's ear a little tug, jerking her head towards Kozmotis, but her expression remained wary. "Ow! Okay, okay, take it easy!" He shifted his weight, still keeping the staff between them. His grip was good, but Kozmotis was willing to bet he could wrench the thing right out of the boy's hands if he wanted to. "Jack Frost."

"And I suppose I have you to thank for the rescue?" Kozmotis asked, not believing it for a moment. He'd have been back in that cell rather than the terrifyingly familiar garden.

Jack's expression went sour as he briefly touched the edge of one blackened eye. "Rescue. Right. I guess that was a rescue. Technically. No one got eaten, anyway."

Something moved in the shadows of the trees, a flash of grey against green and brown. Kozmotis pretended not to notice. "I'm afraid I missed out on the details-" he prompted.

"Being busy bleeding to death, I gotchya." Jack smirked -- was he unaware of what was creeping about behind his back? Or did he consider Kozmotis the greater threat? "During _that_ , your little friend with the lightning decided to fry _everything_ within fifty feet of you. Including _me_." The smirk morphed into a grimace. "Then I wake up _here_ , wherever here is, and there's _you_ , and Baby Tooth likes you now. Which, by the way, is beyond weird."

"My heart bleeds," Kozmotis drawled.

"Perhaps next time, I _should_ leave you for the Fearlings."

Hands came down on Jack's shoulders. He spun, swinging his staff at the head of the grey cloaked woman who had come up behind him, but she caught the shaft with one hand before it could connect. Baby Tooth screeched her outrage, dive bombing the woman until she released her hold on Jack's staff, spinning away in a swirl of grey cloth before he could try to hit her again. A sharp gust of wind took Baby Tooth by surprise, sending her tumbling away with a cry.

Kozmotis caught her as she spun through the air, cradling Baby Tooth to his chest as he strode forward, ignoring the pain from his unhealed wounds. He came between Jack and the grey cloaked woman, snatching the staff from the lad and dropping Baby Tooth into his hand in a single smooth motion. The staff was shorter and lighter than what Kozmotis was used to, and he would have dearly loved for something with a sharp edge, but it was good to have some kind of weapon in his hands again. He drew his lips up in a parody of a charming smile as he twirled the staff in his hands, more than ready to use it to start breaking bones. "I hate to be an ungrateful guest, but I'm having a rather trying week, and none of the answers I've been able to get have really made any sense."

The woman held perfectly still, and Jack tried to snatch the staff back while Kozmotis tried to make out her face in the shadow cast by her hood. "I think I can help you with that." She pushed the hood back, grey eyes locked on Kozmotis and filled with pity.

Jack and Baby Tooth might as well have not been there, for all that the general noticed them. His world had contracted to one tiny pinpoint.

Her face was still unlined -- ageless rather than youthful, with skin the color of caramel and black hair held back from her long, thin face by a simple silver diadem. Her lips were pressed tightly together, overshadowed by a beak of a nose not unlike the one Kozmotis had often found himself cursing.

Unconsciousness would have been a blessing. Better that than to face this.

"But I don't think you're going to like the answers," Seraphina Pitchiner admitted gently.


	9. A Real Rain

Denial could take a man only so far.

Everything Kozmotis Pitchiner accepted, everything he believed, every pillar of his life, had crumbled and been swept away, leaving him lost and adrift. There was nothing left for him to cling to.

And like any drowning man, he lashed out.

 

"Carefully, carefully, he hit his head on the way down-"

Baby Tooth hovered at the end of Kozmotis's nose, chirping worriedly as she looked back and forth between Jack and Seraphina. His head ached abominably, and he could feel something wrapped tightly around his ankles. Jack wrenched his staff out of his nerveless fingers while Seraphina coolly studied him.

"If you promise not to take another swing at me, I'll let you up."

Kozmotis felt a broken laugh well up inside him.

_Kozmotis Pitchiner is **dead**. The Golden Army fell millennia ago, slaughtered by you and your Fearlings._

"Why would you believe any promise I made?"

"Because you are, as you ever were, a man of your word."

Seraphina's hands were callused and strong, and pulling Kozmotis to his feet was no effort for her. Baby Tooth continued to fuss at him, brushing his hair back into place and checking the new lump on the back of his head. A quick glance down revealed a vine swiftly unwinding from around his ankles, twisting around itself before disappearing amongst the overgrown flowerbeds.

"If we could have a few moments alone?"

There was a weight to Seraphina's words. This was a woman who did not make requests; she issued _commands_ , and she _would_ be obeyed. Jack was obviously torn between disobeying out of pure contrariness, and recognizing that this was not a fight he was likely to win. Baby Tooth darted forward, letting loose an angry stream of tweets and chirps.

Seraphina was clearly unimpressed, waving her away with a hand. "I've gone to this much trouble to get him here, do you _truly_ think I'm going to do something to him _now_?"

"I don't know, are you?" Kozmotis couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth, and he regretting them immediately. The pain lasted only a moment on her face, but it felt like a slap.

"If I wanted you dead, I would have left you for the fearlings. Of course, if you've decided you don't want the answers I can give you, we can continue with this farce." Seraphina crossed her arms with a little pout that was achingly familiar; he'd been subjected to it often enough, when he couldn't be convinced to play dollies with her or when someone had the gall to interrupt one of her tea parties.

It was all Kozmotis could do not to reach out to her. "Fair enough."

"Do _I_ get a say in this?" Jack demanded.

" _No._ "

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Start from the beginning. What happened after I received my orders?"

"We fought." Seraphina found herself unable to meet her father's eyes. "You tried to convince me that you were the only man for the job. The only one strong enough to guard the Fearlings in their prison."

She'd been so angry.

Truthfully, she was _still_ angry.

"Hubris has always been the fatal flaw of our people," she added. "We thought we could imprison the darkness, just lock it up and throw away the key. We thought one man alone could keep it all in check. That was the downfall of the Empire.

"No one knew exactly what happened, or when the Fearlings got free. Only that they _were_ free, and at their head was-"

"Me," Kozmotis said flatly, expression distant.

" _Pitch Black_ ," she corrected. "The Nightmare King. That was what he called himself. He smashed the Empire, exterminated the Pookas, killed star systems, and chased what little remained of our people until there was nothing left."

"The Tsar- the _army_ -"

"Fear and despair are powerful weapons. To see the Fearlings lead by something wearing the face of our greatest hope..." She spread her hands. "In the end, Pitch could not be defeated, only contained. He was bound to this planet, held in stasis by the Prince's bodyguard for centuries. He broke free eventually, of course, but he was weakened. New champions arose to defeat him time and again, until finally-"

The words caught in Seraphina's throat, choking her. He looked _exactly_ as she remembered him. Even the expression he wore brought her back to those last days of her childhood. Pain and sorrow and the quiet horror in the face of a bleak and hopeless future.

"They let you go," she whispered. "They let you go."

His hand was cool and dry against her skin as he brushed at the tears she couldn't hold back any longer.


	10. Eye of the Storm

_I failed._

He'd had one job, one duty -- to protect his Tsar, his Empire, and his daughter from the Fearlings. He'd sworn himself to the task, allowed it to consume him-

And he had _failed_ , utterly and completely.

Nowhere was his failure clearer than the expression on Seraphina's face. Pity and pain with a distinct undercurrent of _fear_. Never once had he given his daughter reason to fear him, and she had been so very careful to draw the distinction between Kozmotis and Pitch Black -- but she looked at him now, and she saw the monster who had slaughtered her people.

The monster who had robbed her of her childhood.

 

"I let them out." Kozmotis's hand fell away from Seraphina's face grasped at the empty air where his locket should have been. He could feel his gorge rising, burning it's way up his throat until he disgorged the stinking bile. Seraphina looked at the puddle of vomit between them, drying her eyes quickly as she got to her feet. Kozmotis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking away from the shameful mess steaming on the green grass.

Seraphina left him there, returning moments later with a simple clay cup filled with cool, clear water. She said nothing as he rinsed his mouth, the grass around them growing with preternatural speed to conceal and absorb the mess.

"Perhaps you should lay down. I can bring you some food, when you feel up to it."

Kozmotis was barely aware of being guided back to the villa, or of laying down in the bed. Seraphina sat silently by his side for a while before leaving him to his churning thoughts.

"The long nightmare is _over_. You're free," she whispered, lips brushing Kozmotis's forehead before she left.

_I failed._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ice dripped off Jack, melting swiftly in the sultry heat of the beach as he glowered at the distant, gray horizon. For miles around the island, it was clear skies and calm seas... right up to the edge of the storm. Jack had tried going over, only to be sucked down by raging winds that refused to obey him. Going _through_ had proven equally impossible -- the clouds were so thick he couldn't see past the length of his arm, and he and Baby Tooth had been bombarded with hail and rain coming in hard enough to actually _hurt_ until they'd turned back.

Baby Tooth shivered miserably as she preened her feathers, ridding herself of the rain faster than Jack -- his efforts to protect himself had ended with him covered in layers of ice he was only just beginning to shed.

"Maybe if we ask nicely," Jack drawled. Baby Tooth made a rude noise, getting a laugh from him. "Yeah, our hostess is a Witch with a capital B..."

But she didn't want them there, and they didn't want to _be_ there -- even if Baby Tooth had been reluctant to leave Pitch. Or Kozmotis. Whatever. Maybe Mother Nature would open up a way _out_ if she was reminded of that.

Down the beach, a herd of creatures came up onto the shore. They bore a passing resemblance to horses, with long, slender legs and graceful, arching necks that ended in distinctly equine heads, but even from where Jack sat, he could see the mottled scales that covered their flanks, and where flowing tails of hair should have been there were broad and fish like tails, like the mermaids that flocked around Sandy whenever he came to the shore. The creatures regarded Jack and Baby Tooth with wary curiosity, but since neither the fairy nor the winter spirit showed any interest in coming closer, they seemed content to leave the two interlopers be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Seraphina brought fruit and more water with her when she returned. Kozmotis picked at it listlessly, thoughts still caught in a whirlwind of guilt.

"I normally have a 'you eat what you can catch' policy," she began, "but if you'd prefer meat, I could-"

"Did anyone else survive?"

Seraphina took one of the pomegranates from the bowl of fruit and split it open with her hands, plucking the ripe red seeds from within. "A wishing star," she said slowly. "And there's a Pooka."

"I've met him." Kozmotis watched as he daughter stared resolutely at the fruit she was picking apart, a suspicion forming in his mind. "Who else?"

"There have been a few others who managed to escape Pitch, but most of them have since passed from old age-"

" _Seraphina_." She looked up guiltily. "Who else?"

Seraphina shredded the flesh of the pomegranate, piling the seeds into the bowl as she spoke. "After you were sent to guard the prison, the Tsar and Tsarina had a son. When Pitch tore through the Empire, Their Majesties fled. Not fast enough to escape Pitch, but they were able to keep him at bay long enough to give the Tsesarevich a chance. His bodyguard was able to bind Pitch for a time. By the time he finally broke free, Pitch was too weakened and the Tsesarevich too strong for him to attack directly." She jerked her chin towards the window. "You should be able to see what remains of the Moon Clipper by now. His Highness," Seraphina drawled contemptuously, "is up there."

Kozmotis turned to look out, raising his eyes to the darkened sky. A thin crescent of a moon hung there, but to his eye there was _more_ than that; a twinkle of moonlight that had no natural source-

"You don't owe him anything."

The moonlight danced on the grass, forming the patterns that had been drilled into Kozmotis's head during his training, but he was drawn back from the window by the pain in his daughter's voice.

"I swore an oath."

How many times had Kozmotis said those very words to Seraphina, in the minutes before he would board a ship to be carried far from her?

"You fulfilled that oath the day you condemned yourself to imprisonment with the Fearlings!" Seraphina spat back. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the thin trickle of moonlight as she shot to her feet, knocking the fruit to the floor. "You gave them your life!"

"And it was all for nothing. I failed."

"Of course you did!" Rain began to sheet down from above. "You were only one mortal man!" Chunks of ice fell alongside the rain, and thunder rumbled in the sky. "The Tsar might as well have signed your death warrant when he gave that order. No one man, no matter how noble, honorable, or wise, should have had to bear that burden alone."

" _I_ should have been able to!" Kozmotis surged out of the bed, looming over Seraphina. "I swore I would protect the Empire! I swore you would never have to live in a universe filled with fear, and _I failed_! Better if I _had _died in that prison than to live with _this_!"__

__Seraphina took a step back from Kozmotis and closed her eyes, inhaling slowly. Kozmotis felt his anger drain away as swiftly as it came, and though he longed to pull his daughter to him and apologize, there was _something_ in the expression she wore that warned him that he would regret it if he tried. "I suggest you rest a while. I have other matters that demand my attention."_ _

__Seraphina left Kozmotis in the little room of the crumbling villa, standing amidst the fallen fruit as the storm continued to rage outside._ _


	11. Life After Death

Toothiana wiped the dark blood off her sword using the scrap of cloth North handed her, her eyes on the storm churning in the distance as she came to rest lightly on the Sandman’s cloud of dreamsand. Only a few of the fearlings had dared to venture near the Guardians, intent instead on whatever lay beyond the storm. They’d fled from North’s workshop the moment they had realized whatever they were hunting wasn’t there, despite the obvious vulnerability left by the holes blown into it.

The Guardians were nothing more than targets of opportunity, to be attacked if they were there, and nothing more.

At least the storm around North’s workshop had cleared up, once Mother Nature’s attention had been drawn away.

North had the good sense not to ask Toothiana if she was _sure_ Baby Tooth was on the other side of the storm. She just hoped that she was right, and that Jack was with her fairy, in the relative safety of Mother Nature’s protections.

The fearlings were beginning to mass on the outer edges of the storm, clinging to each other as they struggled against the wind. Toothiana couldn’t remember _ever_ seeing so many in one place, even when Pitch had been at the height of his power in the Dark Ages. There were hundreds of them, maybe even thousands, and all of them were intent on one goal. 

_Pitch_.

He was somewhere on the other side of the storm -- or more accurately, in the middle of it. The dark clouds and raging winds went for miles around the little island that the Guardians normally took great pains to avoid. No lost teeth had ever called her there, no child had ever celebrated a Christmas on it’s sandy shores, no brightly painted eggs had ever hid themselves in the sheltering foliage, and if the island’s sole sentient inhabitant had ever been sent a good dream, the Sandman never mentioned it.

A hole opened up amid the waves, and Bunnymund emerged with a yelp as the water rushed to close over him, sputtered as North hauled him up to the dubious safety of the dreamsand cloud. He swore -- at North, at the Fearlings, at Mother Nature, Jack, and Pitch -- anything that seemed to be in need of swearing at.

“No luck?” Toothiana asked, directing a handful of fairies to help Bunnymund dry off.

“Gimme a week, I could tunnel my way in.” He scratched behind his ear and shook himself, sending water droplets everywhere. “Old girl’d probably collapse the whole thing on top of me if I tried,” he added with a sour twitch of his nose.

North crouched at the edge of the cloud, surveying the massing fearlings, hands dangling between his knees. “The question is,” the wizard said slowly, “do we fight through fearlings only to face Mother Nature?”

A worrying thought. North had made it more than clear that he suspected Mother Nature had a hand in the attack on the workshop that had allowed Pitch to escape in the first place. There was certainly no doubt that the storm that had given him cover was her doing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Kozmotis tried to sleep until he could no longer stand keeping still, painfully aware that he _feared_ to sleep. Who knew what horrible truths he might find himself subjected to? He bolted out of the bed, pacing the length of the room restlessly. While it had never been a great burden for him to be still when he wanted to, enforced idleness had always been his bane (to the frustration of every physician who had ever been inflicted with his care). Activity helped him focus, helped him to dismiss the unimportant.

 _To ignore things until they can’t be ignored anymore,_ he thought sardonically, steps slowing.

He went to the window, leaning far enough that his hands dangled outside and turning his face to the stormy sky and began cataloguing what he had lost. The Empire was gone. There was a great hole in his memory that he had begun privately referring to as Pitch. He had no army to command, no friends to turn to, Seraphina was even more a stranger to him than before -- what did he have left?

_I have my mind. My body is whole. My daughter lives -- and is clearly more than able to protect herself, come whatever may._

The clouds thinned, allowing a tiny sliver of moonlight to shine down. Kozmotis let slip a small, sad smile.

He’d been the one who had insisted on the commissioning of the _Moon Clipper_ , in those long gone days. The safety of his Tsar -- his _friend_ \-- had been of the utmost importance. That had been years before Seraphina was born, before her mother had died at the claws of an abominable nightmare beast, shattering Kozmotis’s last illusions of safety and driving him to put Seraphina before all others.

Not that he would have _ever_ have admitted out loud that his daughter had become more important to him than any oath of fealty he had sworn.

The _Moon Clipper_ had been designed for speed and stealth, to give Lunar and his people the best possible chance of getting away, should the capital come under attack, until they could reach the planet chosen as the fall back point and hide as a lifeless moon.

 _Second best,_ he reminded himself. But only because the Moon Clipper was meant to hold dozens of people, in addition to the robot servants and everything deemed necessary for a proper Constellation court.

 _The Guppy_ was only meant to hold three at the very most, stripped down to the bare essentials... and Seraphina had been instructed to take it as _far_ from the Moon Clipper as she could.

Obviously, part of the plan had worked.

“So what do I do now?” Kozmotis asked of no one.

Something large and black flitted across the sky, chased by a brilliant swarm of luminescent butterflies. For a moment, their light illuminated the fearling fully, making the Kozmotis’s blood run cold. It was an _old_ fearling, bloated like a tick from heavy feeding, possibly from devouring more of it’s own kind.

The butterflies surrounded the ancient beast, a web of lighting cracking between them. A dozen bolts arched from their brilliant blue wings, frying the fearling until it fell to the earth as so much black ash. The thunder that followed was deafening, and Kozmotis could still see the afterimage of the lightning when he closed his eyes.

More than ash fell out of the sky, though Jack’s descent was left him whole and unscorched.

“Holy crap.”

“Not quite the expression I’d use,” Kozmotis murmured, though he didn’t disagree with the sentiment. Baby Tooth shot out from Jack’s hood, circling Kozmotis at a dizzying speed while holding forth on Seraphina and her version of hospitality. “I take it your attempts at returning home have been... somewhat less than successful?”

“Not quite the expression I’d use,” Jack drawled, leaning against the empty window frame. “You really like hearing yourself talk, donchya?”

“It’s a terrible habit,” Kozmotis confirmed. Baby Tooth settled on the crook of Jack’s staff, fluffing her feathers with a little huff. “In any event,” he went on, turning his eyes back to the sky in search of more fearlings, “I think we would all be best off arming ourselves.”

In all his years of fighting them, Kozmotis had never seen a lone fearling. They _always_ traveled in swarms, counting on superior numbers to grant them victory. The old thing had just been the first one to slip through, and Kozmotis doubted that it would be the last.


	12. Weapon of Choice

Kozmotis was pleased to find the armory was exactly where he remembered it, and while Seraphina had allowed the rest of the villa to fall to ruin, _this_ room remained pristine.

“ _Wow._ ”

Kozmotis half turned towards Jack as he walked into the armory. The lights rose slowly, glittering on perfectly maintained edges and highly polished armor, both beautiful and lethally functional. Jack was staring at a sword that held pride of place in the center of the room. The hilt sparkled with opals set in both the pommel and rain guard. The blade itself was etched with the seal of the House of Lunanoff, and it greeted Kozmotis’s eyes like an old friend. While the scythe had always been his weapon of choice, the sword had been a constant companion through much of his career -- a gift from the Tsar, presented to him after saving the life of the woman who would later become the Tsarina. Kozmotis had known, the moment he had first held the sword, that it was not his to keep. This was a sword that was meant to be passed from parent to child, an heirloom.

His fingers twitched, eager to take the familiar blade, but he ultimately moved on. It wasn’t his to take, not anymore. He moved to collect a pair of boot knives, grieves, and wrist guards. Jack and Baby Tooth wandered about the armory without any real purpose, picking up things and putting them back.

A brigandine joined his things, and Kozmotis finally moved on to the part of the armory he had been avoiding the entire time; the scythes. The Empire had places as much emphasis on form as function, making each scythe hanging on the walls as much a work of art as a deadly weapon. Gold and silver inlay glittered on dark shafts, depicting valiant battles against Fearlings, Nightmare Men, and Dream Pirates. The blades themselves were moon silver, enchanted to a fare-thee-well with spells meant to protect the wielder while cutting through darkness and corrupted flesh. Each scythe had served him well before being retired to the armory, replaced with another of finer craftsmanship, with stronger spells and more beautiful metalwork.

The last scythe wasn’t there. It had never been meant to be an heirloom, not like the sword, no matter how elegant a work of art it had been. He’d have taken it with him.

Kozmotis took one of the scythes down, testing the edge with his thumb -- still sharp as a razor, and the spells hummed welcomingly. It was not so beautiful as some of the others, but it felt like an old friend in his hands.

“In an ever changing world, it’s nice to know some things are constant.”

Had Seraphina _known_ he would come back for these, or only held on to them out of sentiment? Or... had there been someone else for whom she had kept the blades sharp and the armor shining? Everything he had seen told Kozmotis that his daughter had become a Power on this primitive little world, with no need for bespelled blades and armor.

The brigandine was a familiar, welcome weight over top of the tunic, as were the wrist guards and greaves. He was tempted by the heavier breast plates, but had ultimately decided to forgo them in favor of something he could get into without assistance. Still, for the first time since the wretched ordeal began, Kozmotis felt fully dressed.

No boots, nor shoes of any sort, but he would manage.

He could feel the eyes of his companions boring into his back, and he could see their wary expressions in the mirror polish of the blades. Trust did not come easily.

And why should it? He was a near stranger wearing the face of an enemy.

“Nothing for you?”

Jack leaned on his staff, smirking as he caressed the frost coated wood. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” One last check, and Kozmotis was ready. “Time to find the back door.”

 

 

“It’s like this all the way around the island?”

Jack looked worried as he watched the dark storm on the horizon. “It’s getting closer,” he noted.

Kozmotis grunted, eyes traveling elsewhere. There _would_ be a back door, an escape route. Defenses could and did fail, and _when_ they did...

There was a herd of kelpies down the beach, the black scales of their hides glittering like dark opals as they dried. They pawed restlessly at the sand, clearly as distressed by the storm as Jack -- probably more so.

They wanted to be out there, defending their home... but here they were, sitting on a beach. Waiting.

In his day, kelpies had been much valued as war steeds. They were strong, fast, intelligent, and able to move on land, sea, or air as needed. They were also wretchedly difficult to train, but Kozmotis had always considered them well worth the time. A machine could crash and kill the rider if attention was taken off the controls, but a well trained kelpie was more than able to keep itself and it’s rider alive in all but the very worst of conditions.

A wild kelpie herd would have been out there in the storm. _Nothing_ would have stopped them from defending their territory.

Kozmotis didn’t realize he was laughing until Jack demanded to know what was so funny.

“I think I just found the back door.”


	13. Riders of the Storm

In over three hundred years, Jack Frost had never actually ridden a horse. He’d _tried_ a few times, but he’d always ended up dumped on his backside, leaving him laughing at the sky while his unwilling mount shook itself and pranced away, glad to be rid of such a cold weight on it’s back.

The kelpies looked more likely to take a bit out of Jack than dump him. Everything about their posture and the way they pulled their lips back from long, sharp teeth spoke of only the smallest sliver of tolerance for him. On the other hand, they seemed to adore Kozmotis, crowding in close to snuffle his hair as he ran his hands over their scaly flanks and down their legs, whispering compliments and reassurances. He settled on a beast as long, lean, and dark as he was, hoisting himself onto it’s back as easily as Jack would have vaulted a rail. It pranced gracefully, arching it’s neck as Kozmotis adjusted the scythe strapped to his back.

Jack had never seen a horse (or horse shaped creature) look quite so pleased with itself before. Baby Tooth – that traitor – flew around the kelpie’s head until it snapped at her, sending her retreating back to the safety of Jack’s hood while Kozmotis tutted and stroked the beast’s neck.

“Some things never change,” Kozmotis said to no one. “She’s been training you for years, hasn’t she? Just in case.” He sat up straight, posture impossibly perfect. “Mount up.”

Jack leaned forward, putting his weight on his staff as he eyed the rest of the kelpie herd. “Do I _look_ like the kind of guy who rides _horses_?”

The kelpie beneath Kozmotis snorted and pawed at the sand as if in agreement. Kozmotis’ thin lips pressed into a grim line as he studied the storm on the horizon, and he gestured for Jack to join him on the beast’s back. “Unless you care to brave the storm yourself again,” he added.

“You don’t _really_ think a kelpie’s gonna get through _that_ -“ Jack waved a hand at the storm, “-do you?”

Kozmotis stroked the kelpie’s neck. “When I was-“ He huffed a laugh. “A long time ago, creatures like these were highly prized for their intelligence and resilience. There was a time that my-“ Some of the color drained from his face, and his expression grew distant. “I always insisted that we keep some at home. Seraphina was riding them before she could walk. If there’s any creature she would use as a back door…”

The waves crashed higher on the beach, salt water turning to ice around Jack’s feet.

Sure, Jack could make another try at flying through the storm… but he was curious. And it wasn’t like he actually had a better plan.

The kelpie pawed restlessly at the damp sand, it’s flanks twitched while Kozmotis helped Jack up onto it’s back. He’d barely managed to get himself seated before the kepie charged into the surf, nearly knocking Jack off. Only grabbing onto the back of Kozmotis’ armor kept him from falling off into the water. Baby Tooth darted deeper into Jack’s hoodie and stayed there, protected from the wind, rain, and waves. The rest of the herd formed an honor guard around them, swimming gracefully through the water. Hail pelted down, smacking into Jack hard enough that he was beginning to regret not getting some armor while he had the chance. “Keep low,” Kozmotis advised, his eyes raised to the sky.

Something Jack couldn’t identify shrieked in the clouds high above, it’s call met with a flash of lightning that had spots dancing in Jack’s eyes. Ash fell with the hail, and every one of Jack’s instincts demanded that he get _up_ there and beat back the fear creatures. Kozmotis’ lips curled back from his teeth in a familiar, feral grimace, but the kelpie seemed to have more sense than it’s passengers. It kept to the water, gaining speed as it found it’s way through the waves. Jack’s staff threatened to be torn from his hand by the storm, and he could feel every bump in the kelpie’s spine. “Couldn’t you have grabbed a _saddle_?”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next escape.” Kozmotis reached a hand around to touch the shaft of his scythe as the clouds above them parted for a moment. Two of the _things_ that had been attacking the island swooped around the distant figure of Mother Nature, one narrowly dodging a bolt of lightning while the other found itself torn to shreds by icy lances. The nightmare monster fell into the ocean while the clouds closed overhead. The kelpie herd let loose a collective cry that Jack knew would haunt him for years to come; most fell upon the injured monster even as it tried to rip the ice lances from it’s ever changing body.

Kelpies were meat eaters, and something as large as that the nightmare creature was a feast for them. Only the beast Kozmotis had chosen continued through the storm.

Jack watched the nightmare monster get pulled shrieking beneath the waves. Kozmotis kept his eyes on the sky.

Baby Tooth watched the horizon, drawn by the magnetic force of she who was both her mother and goddess. A tooth fairy could always find her way back to her progenitor.

Their exit did not go unnoticed, even in the heat of battle. The fearlings died in a torrent of hail and lightning, unaware that their prey was on the move, but two ancient souls marked the escape.

_You could have stopped them,_ whispered the moon.

“Busy now,” Seraphina replied calmly, a water spout rising at her command to tear into the putrid, shadowy flesh of another unbearably ancient fearling.

_I had hoped you and I were past the point of lying to each other._

“ _Fine_. Yes, I _could_ stop them. I could spend the rest of his _life_ stopping him from leaving me again. And the day he stopped fighting would be the day I truly lost my father for good.”

_What changed your mind?_

“What makes you think I have?”


	14. This Is War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kozmotis Pitchner may be far from home, but there's still one thing he's really good at...

Toothiana was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel clean again. The terrible ichor of the fearlings seemed to coat every feather, and no amount of sea water could wash it away. It was under her _nails_ , in her _mouth_ , clogging her _nose_ , choking her until she couldn't _breathe_ -

And they just kept _coming_.

The idea of facing the greatest of the beasts, the ones who dove into the storm chasing their prey, filled her with cold dread.

She knew it wasn't logical.

How many times across the centuries had they beaten back the Boogeyman? Even when their world had been light by only a single faithful light, the Guardians had come together to defeat him. _Together_ , they could defeat any beast.

_But where was Jack?_ a traitorous corner of her mind wondered. And looking upon the unnatural movements of the monstrosities that blotted out the sky, Toothiana badly wished that Jack and his still growing power was at her side.

"We got incoming!" Bunny warned even as a boomerang whizzed past Toothiana's head, thudding into the unwholesome flesh of something that looked like it had escaped from a squid's worst nightmares. It had been turning its ponderous bulk when Bunny had struck his blow, and a dozen rolling eyes suddenly turned their awful focus on her.

Once, long ago, before Toothian's feathers had first sprouted, she had watched a tiger devour a nanny goat. The poor creature had frozen before the tiger, unable to even utter a final bleat before being torn apart. Terror had robbed the goat of even the ability to flee, and Toothiana herself had been unable to look away. Her father had organized the men to hunt down and trap the tiger, but not even knowing that the tiger was dead, it's fur and teeth and claws distributed among the hunters had cured her of the nightmares. Sometimes in them, she had stood where the old nanny goat had.

Toothiana hadn't thought about the tiger in years, but now she couldn't get the beast out of her mind. Was she imagining things, or did the fearling seem to be sprouting stripes? Was one of it's mouths changing from beak to fanged maw?

Not even Pitch Black had been able to inspire in her the kind of mind destroying she felt welling up from within. Against Pitch, she had never found herself _unable_ to act.

The fearling was laughing at her as its flesh writhed, enclosing Bunny's boomerang.

Then there was only rage.

How _dare_ it laugh at her? She was Queen Toothiana, last of the Sisters of Flight! Guardian of Memories! Daughter of Rashimi and Haroom-

_And she would not be mocked._

 

 

 

Coming out into the open air was almost a slap in the face.

Kozmotis spent a few moments blinking in the sudden return of the sunlight, swiping at his face to clear the water away.

High above, something -- or some _one_ \-- unleashed the most unholy shriek. It wasn't a fearling; Kozmotis knew fearling sounds. No, this was a _war cry_ , the scream of someone who's rage overwhelmed their fear, and was going to make the source of their fear _pay_.

Kozmotis was almost as familiar with such war cries as he was with the gibbering of fearlings; he'd uttered more than a few in his time.

Baby Tooth echoed the war cry, and Jack took to the sky after the tiny fairy.

Kozmotis raised a hand to shade his eyes, taking note of not only of the fearlings filling the sky, but of the golden star that had brought him from his first prison perched upon a cloud of sand, providing support and cover to his former host and the Pooka. In the sky beyond that, something small and fast and shimmering green darted around an ancient fearling, tearing at its ever shifting flesh in a display that would have done any soldier under his command proud.

The kelpie beneath him swam in circles as Kozmotis unslung his scythe. He never took his eyes off the fearling, even as it was assaulted with a handful of explosives thrown by the pooka, joined by frost thrown off by Jack's staff. Jack and the green dart worked well together, striking in rapid succession. The star raised the platform of sand, allowing North and the Pooka to properly join the fray.

They fought well together, the way only comrades of long standing could. Only Jack provided the slightest of discordant notes, and he made up for that with a power that was not unimpressive given his obvious youth.

The kelpie reared, and Kozmotis found himself smiling fiercely in response.

There was a weapon in his hand, and a beast to kill.

Kozmotis could deal with that.


End file.
